Like Glass We Break (Glass #2) (17 page)

***

“Here we are,” and though Austin whispers, Adia still jumps. She had been sleeping and the stopping of the vehicle and his voice caught her by surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Sorry, I fell asleep,” Lauren apologizes, trying not to yawn. It’s only eight o’clock and she has no idea why she’s so tired, but she can barely keep her eyes open.

“Where should I drop you off?” he asks politely.

“This is fine,” Lauren replies. They seem to be in the middle of town, and she really has no idea where Oliver’s hotel might be. She’s going to have to do some asking around. The town really isn’t all that big so it can’t be too hard to find. “I’m not quite sure where my grandma lives now. She moved a couple years ago. I haven’t been up in a while. This is going to be a really nice visit. Thanks again for bringing me up this way. I appreciate it so much.”

“No problem, Adia.”

Lauren closes the car door and walks a couple feet away. Just as Austin is about to drive away, he rolls down his window.

“Adia?” he calls out after her. She doesn’t respond. “Adia? Hey, Adia?”

Still nothing. He throws his truck in park and climbs out, around to her side of the vehicle. He opens the passenger door and pulls out her small bag.

“Adia,” he calls out again. “You forgot your bag.”

“Huh?” Lauren mumbles, spinning around. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I figured you’d need this. Man, it’s not very heavy. You pack light. I wish my wife could learn a thing or two from you. Every time we go anywhere, whether it’s for a day or for a week, she’s packing for a month. I tell you, it’s like she thinks we’re never coming home and she needs to be prepared. I’m surprised she doesn’t try to bring the cat. No, wait—she does bring the cat. Darn cat.” He chuckles. “Have a good night, Adia. I can’t wait to get home to my bed.”

Austin is gone; all that remains of him are his red tail lights in the distance.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lauren stands on the sidewalk alone, clutching her bag in her left hand. Her hand is freezing. She knew it would be much colder in Vermont. Hell, she grew up a lot further north than this—she knows how cold it can get—but her body seems to have forgotten, with the gallivanting she’s done all over the country in the last year. This makes her miss Texas, and she didn’t even spend all that much time there.
Why did Oliver have to mess Texas up for them?
They could have started a life there—it would have been the perfect place to start a family. Although she didn’t know much about the place itself, the climate was ideal—no cold and no snow. If Lauren never had to see snow again in her life, that would still be too soon.

Lauren wiggles her fingers, wondering if any of them had fallen off yet. So far, all of them are fine—for now. She waits thirty seconds and then wiggles them again. Still fine. Maybe she isn’t going to lose them, if she can find this hotel soon.

She scans the street carefully. A gas station looks like it might provide the best results.

There’s a man standing behind the counter, texting on his cell phone. He doesn’t even acknowledge that anyone has walked into the store.

“Excuse me?” Lauren asks, clearing her throat.

He looks up from his phone but doesn’t put it down or say anything.

“I’m looking for a hotel.”

“There’s one two blocks down.”

“No, a specific one. Um, it showed up on this bank statement. It says Maple Inn. Is there a Maple Inn?”

“There’s Maplewood Inn and Resort. If you take this main street all the way down to the end and then turn left onto Van Horne. Go down about three blocks and it’s on your right, at the base of the mountain. You can’t miss it. It’s lit up really bright.”

“Perfect, thanks.”

“Mmm hmm,” he mumbles, and goes right back to texting.

The walk sounded like it would be a lot longer than it actually is. It’s so cold out that Lauren makes an effort to walk even quicker than she would if she was just walking for the sole purpose of seeing Oliver again for the first time in months.

She stands in front of the huge glass doors and peers inside.

A petite woman stands at the desk and Lauren is sure Oliver must still be staying at this hotel, only because she works here.

Lauren struts through the door with confidence and grace, slightly surprised and unsure of where it came from.

“I’m wondering if you can help me.” She smiles at the woman. “What is your name?”

“I’m Esther,” the woman replies. She’s pretty, but not too pretty—just simple, and pretty.

“Esther, I’m looking for someone. He’s handsome. Probably one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen—and I’m incredibly lucky to have him in my life. He invited me up here on a romantic ski trip and I said no. I broke his heart. I wasn’t ready to commit, so he came up here anyway because he didn’t want to waste the plane ticket or the reservation. I have since changed my mind and—well, here I am. I want to surprise him,” Lauren explains. “I need to know what room he’s in.”

“I don’t think I can do that, ma’am, but I can let him know you’re here and I can have him contact you,” she replies, smiling politely.

“Esther, please don’t call me ma’am. You’re going to check your reservation book, computer system, whatever it is this swanky place uses, and tell me what room he’s staying in. Otherwise, I’m going to get on the phone with the head office of your hotel and I’m going to speak with some sort of a manager. And when I do, I’m going to tell them how rude you’ve been, and how you and your boyfriend were standing in the staff room back there, making out in plain view when I walked in just a few minutes ago. How unprofessional, Esther, sucking face where guests could see you clear as day. There aren’t any cameras around this place, are there?” Lauren grins, scanning the lobby.

“Uh, no, ma’am. But I—”

“What room is he in, Esther?” Lauren asks again, not giving Esther a choice to object.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” She’s serious. Lauren hasn’t yet given her the guest’s name because she isn’t even sure if Oliver has checked in as Oliver or Scott or someone completely different.

“He’s tall, dark, and mysterious. He’s probably talked to you. May have even been overly friendly. Women take it the wrong way, even though he doesn’t mean it like that. It gets him in trouble sometimes, because women throw themselves at him, thinking that he’s flirting when he’s really not—he’s actually just a genuinely nice guy, and they are few and far between these days.” She pauses. “Did you throw yourself at him, Esther?”

“What? No.”

“But he was nice to you?” Lauren grills.

“Well, yes. He brought…” her voice trails off.

“So you know who I’m talking about, don’t you? He brought what, Esther?” Lauren asks, her voice raised. She’s almost shouting. There had been no one else in the lobby up until this time but now another couple walks in through the glass doors and catch part of the conversation. Realizing that Lauren sounds upset, they stare at the women as they walk to the hallway, presumably in the direction of their room.

Esther waits until they have disappeared down the hall to continue the conversation.

“He brought me two slices of pizza,” she whispers, leaning toward Lauren across the counter, as though she thinks Lauren will be able to hear her better if she’s two inches closer.

“Did you fuck him, Esther? Did you fuck him for the pizza? As a thank you for the whole four dollars he spent on you?” Lauren spits harshly at her.

“No, I—I didn’t. I didn’t even see him again after that. That was the only time I talked to him. I didn’t even ask for the pizza. I told him I didn’t want it. I brought a sandwich from home. I have a boyfriend. I didn’t need pizza.” Esther is crying. Tears begin to flow from this tiny, petite little girl’s eyes, down her bony little cheeks. “I didn’t even eat it. I felt bad saying no, because he was so persistent, so I took it and I ran it home to my boyfriend while I was on break. I don’t like pepperoni and mushroom—my boyfriend does.”

“What is his room number, Esther?” Lauren asks in a tone of voice that suggests this will be the last time she asks this question.

“It’s 413,” she replies, not even having to look it up in the computer.

“Thank you, Esther. Now, please take the rest of the night off. I don’t want to see your face again.”

“But—”

“Go home,” Lauren growls. Esther doesn’t argue again. As Lauren walks away, she can see Esther in her peripheral vision, picking up the phone, presumably dialing her manager’s number to let her know that she has to go home for the evening—that she’s either not feeling well, or that she has a family emergency, but that she definitely has to leave, and that someone else has to come in and cover the rest of her shift.

In the elevator, it feels like it takes forever to get up to the fourth floor, even though it takes less than a minute. As the elevator doors slowly open, a sign reveals to Lauren that room 413 is down the hallway to the right. She becomes anxious. Her heart flutters and the palms of her hands are sweaty. She’s nervous and excited, unsure of how Oliver will react after having not seen her in so long. Surely he still loves her. He told her that she was and always would be his soul mate, and he is definitely hers. Despite everything they had been through—the unfortunate events at the hospital, everyone trying to keep them apart, Oliver’s ex-wife—they swore they would always find a way to make it through and be together forever. Their love was a love that would last until the end of time.

Lauren knew that while they were separated there would be other women, but that they would never measure up to her. He’d never care about them like he loved her. He’d never fuck them like he fucked her, over and over, in her room at the hospital, and in his office over his desk. It was love, and it was going to fix everything now that they could be with each other again—inside each other again.

The gold numbers on the hotel room door shine in the yellow lighting of the hall—room 413. Lauren is so excited she almost squeals with joy but she controls herself and clears her throat. She lifts her fist to the door and pauses. She listens for any sound in the room, and then she knocks, quietly at first. She pauses again. Listens. Nothing. Another knock. Nothing. This time, she pounds on the door. Pause. No sound.
Is he not here? Where could he be at this time of night? No, no, no.

Feeling defeated, she drops to her knees. She reaches up and grasps the door handle, feeling it in her soft hand, knowing that Oliver’s hand has touched this same door handle today and therefore it’s almost as though their own hands have touched. She looks across at the room directly in front of his. She pulls out her cell phone and sends a text message to Nathaniel. In it, she explains that this is an urgent request, and that she desperately needs to rent a hotel room for the night—and that it
must
be room 416 at the Maplewood Inn and Resort in Newport, Vermont.

***

Oliver

Downstairs, Oliver saunters into the hotel lobby through the tall glass doors that shut carefully behind him.

“Good evening, Esther. Do you have plans for supper tonight?” he asks, casual and confident, carrying Chinese take-out.

“Yes,” she replies. Her eyes are still red and puffy, it’s obvious that she has been crying.

“Oh? What are your plans?”

“My plans are not to eat supper with you.” She turns her back toward him.

“Don’t be silly,” Oliver chuckles. “Why would you say that?”

Esther refuses to comment and keeps her back turned to Oliver. She is packing up her things to leave for the night, just as soon as another employee arrives to relieve her of her duties.

“Stupid bitch,” Oliver mutters, under his breath. He turns and storms back outside. He drops the white Styrofoam takeout container on the sidewalk and leaves it for the birds.
Women are so ungrateful for what I do for them.

He walks down the street hurriedly, as though he knows where he’s going, even though he does not. When he sees a quaint tavern with an open sign, he opens the small door and stops in. Immediately, he notices a woman sitting alone at the bar.

“May I buy you a drink?” he asks.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” she replies. She smiles.

Of course I can. Of course you’ll let me buy you something. It’s free. Women always want free. They want to take, take, take.

“What are you drinking?” he asks.

“Cranberry juice and vodka,” she answers.

“Bartender! Disaronno on the rocks, please. Two of them,” Oliver shouts.

The bartender pours two of them and places them in front of Oliver, who slides one in front of the beautiful woman beside him. She looks at him, surprised, but accepts the drink—because it’s free.

The drinks keep coming. Oliver keeps ordering two at a time, but only she is drinking them. He sips them far more slowly than she does, and then slides the extra ones her way. She is getting tipsy, slurring her words and giggling uncontrollably. There are several other people in the bar—also drinking, but she is definitely the most incapacitated person there. Finally, the bartender cuts them off.

“Okay, buddy. That’s enough. Your little friend has got to get home. It’s time to pay up and get her to bed,” he says.

Oliver nods in agreement and offers a handful of cash that the bartender gratefully accepts.

“Where do you live?” Oliver asks the woman.

“Across town,” she replies. “That-a-way.”

“Okay, super. Should we get you a cab?” Oliver asks.

“Nuh uh. There’s only one cab here and he’s usually really, really busy this time of night. I should walk,” she sighs.

“That’s going to take you hours in this condition,” Oliver warns her.

“I know,” she says, nodding.

“Hey, I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a hotel room at the Maplewood, right up that way,” he says, softly, pointing back up the street as they leave the tavern. “How about you come back up there with me? You can have the bed. It’s a miniature suite. I’ll sleep on the couch. The bedroom has a lock on the door and everything. If you’re not comfortable with it, I’ll rent you your own room. It’ll save you a walk to the other side of town. What do you say?”

“That’s really nice. You’re really nice.” She can barely walk and she’s leaning on him. If he wasn’t walking beside her, she wouldn’t be able to stand up on her own. “Okay, fine. Can I take a shower too?”

“Sure, you can do whatever you want. We can even order some food,” Oliver laughs.

“Maybe I’ll let you sleep in the bed,” she whispers, grinning. At that very second, she slips on ice and slides, almost taking both of them down, but Oliver holds her up.

“Watch yourself.” He laughs. The woman’s left hand is holding tightly onto Oliver’s jeans, dangerously close to the pocket he keeps his knife in.